


Hold Me Close (Who Made You This Way)

by sequence_fairy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Obviously), A touch of edging, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Light Bondage, M/M, Unexpectedly toppy!Keith, a little bit of orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Shiro's been alive for centuries. Humans hold allure in so much as they are mostly food and also usually easy enough to cajole into pleasurable company when he's feeling particularly lonely. He doesn't count on Keith honing in on a desire he's buried so long, he'd forgotten he ever had it.Keith grips Shiro’s upper arms, and Shiro knows what’s coming, knows he could escape the confines of his shirtsleeves with barely a thought, knows he could best Keith in any fight, but he lets himself be pushed over, and the thrill of it makes him writhe as Keith settles in between his thighs.“I’ve got you now,” Keith purrs, and Shiro grins.“What’ll you do with me?” He asks.“Anything I want,” Keith says, licking his lips.





	Hold Me Close (Who Made You This Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hallowe'en Sheith fandom. I bring you the vampire porn I have been writing for the better part of a month. It was never my intention for this to be nearly 6k of fic, but here we are. Enjoy.

Keith’s back hits the wall hard enough to force his breath out in a gusty exhale. Shiro sucks a bruise onto the tender skin of his neck, and Keith’s thighs close tight around Shiro’s hips. “God,” Keith pants, “yeah, yeah, just– _ ah _ –”

Shiro’s hands tighten on the back of Keith’s thighs, hitching him up the wall just a little higher. Keith keens as Shiro cants his hips, and heat pools, electric, between them. Shiro lifts his mouth, shifts his grip and catches one of Keith’s wrists, fingers tightening. It’s nothing to drag the arm over Keith’s head and pin it against the wall, and from the way Keith arches into the grip, it’s a long way from something Keith doesn’t enjoy.

Shiro pulls Keith into a hard kiss, taking advantage when Keith yields and his mouth falls open. The kiss heats, and Shiro presses forward, using his bulk to push Keith more firmly against the wall. Under his mouth, Keith whines, the sound nearly stuck in the back of his throat and Shiro lifts his head, suddenly desperate to hear it fully.

“Shiro,” Keith groans, tipping his head back with a sigh and exposing his throat. Shiro’s mouth finds the jumping pulse point in his neck without error, hearing the rushing blood beneath the smooth skin, and has to fight back the desperate impulse to bite down harder than he means. Still, his teeth catch on Keith’s skin, still he tastes the spill of iron, and still, he feels the heady bloom of Keith on his tongue.

Keith goes still under him. Shiro is only just this side of too far gone, and immediately pulls back. He hadn’t meant to do this, not so soon.

Keith’s chest heaves with a shuddering breath, and Shiro looks up at him, expecting fear and horror. What he finds instead sends a bolt of heat through to his core. The naked hunger in Keith’s eyes flays Shiro wide open, leaves him wishing he needed to breathe so he could revel in the kick of that stuttering breath in his chest.

“Oh,” Shiro says, when Keith’s eyes don’t stray from where Shiro’s mouth is parted, where his fangs have lengthened and where his lips are still stained red. Keith’s tongue darts out, wetting his own lips. Shiro follows the movement, hunger beating in the place where his heart used to. It seethes under his skin, buzzes insistently in his fingertips and sharpens his senses.

Sight is first and Shiro is glad of it. Keith’s eyes are blown wide; his pupils dark. A flush rides high on his cheeks, and his mouth is open slightly, lips kiss-swollen. Shiro lets go of Keith’s hand against the wall, sinking his fingers instead into Keith’s hair. He tugs, and Keith goes willingly, his eyes going half-lidded as Shiro pulls Keith’s head to the side. Keith’s hands settle on Shiro’s waist, warmth seeping through the soft silk of Shiro’s shirt and bleeding into his skin.

Scent comes next. Shiro inhales, nuzzling down the warm line of Keith’s neck. He can smell the fresh scent of Keith’s skin, the musk of his sweat just beginning to rise over it, and underneath, the copper and iron tang of his blood. “You smell so good,” Shiro murmurs, and then he feels the heat of Keith’s blush rising through his skin. Shiro squeezes his hand around the back of Keith’s thigh, regripping, and Keith’s legs tighten around Shiro’s waist, pressing their hips together in a delicious drag that makes Shiro groan and Keith shudder. 

Taste follows. Shiro drags his tongue along the taut muscle of Keith’s neck - salty sweet and intoxicating. Shiro’s hips roll of their own accord, and Keith whimpers at the friction. Shiro’s hand tightens in Keith’s hair, and this time, when his lips close over the racing pulse point in Keith’s neck, Shiro doesn’t stop himself. 

Keith cries out, but it’s a punched out sound that rings husky with the desire Shiro can feel pressed hard against his belly. Shiro closes his eyes, savouring the taste of iron and the knowing that comes with it. Keith pants above him, and Shiro knows that if he looked up, Keith’s eyes would be hazed, but for now, he focuses instead on the pooling blood in his mouth, and counting the beat of Keith’s pulse against his lips. 

Shiro takes only a little, sealing the cut with his tongue after five beats. When he lifts his head, Keith whines, the sound plaintive, and Shiro slides his hand from Keith’s hair and cups his jaw instead. Keith’s eyes are still unfocused, but they clear as he blinks lazily, looking down into Shiro’s face. There’s still banked heat in them, and Shiro finds himself wanting to spark it back into flame. 

He gives in to the impulse, rolling his hips and Keith’s mouth shuts with a click, jaw tensing under Shiro’s hand. They’re still fully-clothed, still pressed against the wall beside the door of Keith’s flat, and the only skin Shiro has touched is what has been available to him. Shiro wants to touch the rest of it, wants to feel it against his own, that human heat that is unreplicable in Shiro’s shadowed half-life. 

“Bedroom?” Keith asks, voice raked through gravel and Shiro feels the sound all the way down into his core. Keith’s hands come up to Shiro’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into the silk. 

“Your house,” Shiro reminds him, and Keith’s mouth turns up on one side before he leans back in and licks into Shiro’s mouth, heedless of the fangs. Keith hisses when his lip catches on one, and Shiro savours the burst of iron before Keith pulls away, tongue poking out to worry at the small slice in his bottom lip.

Shiro’s focus narrows to the beading blood on Keith’s mouth. Now that he’s had a taste, Keith’s blood calls to him. Physical desire for sex pales in the face of the primal urge to tear into pale skin and leave a bloody mess all over Keith’s floor. Hunger beats in his chest, but he steps back from the edge, reeling in the vicious impulse. 

Some of his turmoil must show on Shiro’s face, because Keith lifts a hand to mirror Shiro’s on his jaw, and the press of Keith’s fire-brand palm against Shiro’s cheek snaps him back to the present. Shiro leans in again and swipes his tongue along Keith’s lip. Copper, iron, and  _ Keith _ combine and liquid heat pools deeper at the base of Shiro’s spine.

“Bedroom,” Keith repeats, when Shiro’s gaze finds his again. Keith’s eyes are dark, shadowed in the semi-darkness of his flat, but he is unwavering. Shiro leans in to kiss him again, a barely there press, before stepping back and letting Keith back down onto his own two feet. Keith sways before settling, one hand dug into Shiro’s shoulder. After a moment, he flicks his gaze back up to Shiro. 

“Your house,” Shiro says, again, because he doesn’t know how to get there from here, and Keith shakes himself, and then runs a visibly shaking hand through his hair. It falls back into his eyes. Keith inhales, shakes himself again and then steps forward, catching Shiro’s hand on the way by. Shiro lets himself be pulled along, down a dark hallway and past a half-shut door until Keith pauses, and then pushes open another door and tugs Shiro in after him. 

Bedroom discovered, Shiro takes the reins back from Keith, and Keith gives them up willingly, letting Shiro crowd him back and then down onto the bed. As he goes, Shiro tugs Keith’s shirt up and off, revealing lean muscle and the enticing path of dark hair below his navel. Light filters in from the city outside, and the soft glow turns Keith’s already pale skin to moonlight. Shiro needs to get his hands on him, immediately. 

He follows Keith down, landing on his hands, bracing himself, and then tips forward. The kiss is heated, a drag of lips and tongue and Keith arches into him, bringing his arms up and around Shiro’s neck. Shiro pulls away from Keith’s mouth, going back to his neck and Keith hums, hands sliding down Shiro’s back. 

“Want you out of this,” Keith says, untucking the aforementioned garment out of Shiro’s pants, and the first press of Keith’s hands makes Shiro gasp. “C’mon,” Keith whines, tugging on his shirt, “off, off, off.” 

Shiro leans back, coming to rest with his knees planted on either side of Keith’s hips. Keith’s hands rest on his thighs. Shiro lifts a hand to the top-most button, toying with it before popping it open. Something wild lights Keith’s face and he surges up. “Too slow,” he says, with a growl, and grabs each side of Shiro’s shirt with a hand, and then pulls. Buttons ping as Keith tears Shiro’s shirt open, and then tugs it down his arms, trapping Shiro in the ruined fabric. 

“My turn now.” Keith’s mouth finds where the pulse point would be on Shiro’s neck, and Shiro shivers under the scrape of Keith’s teeth as he bites down. His human teeth won’t break Shiro’s skin, but the act spikes Shiro’s arousal, making him squirm as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

Keith grips Shiro’s upper arms, and Shiro knows what’s coming, knows he could escape the confines of his shirtsleeves with barely a thought, knows he could best Keith in any fight, but he lets himself be pushed over, and the thrill of it makes him writhe as Keith settles in between his thighs.

“I’ve got you now,” Keith purrs, and Shiro grins.

“What’ll you do with me?” He asks. 

“Anything I want,” Keith says, licking his lips. Desire pulses in Shiro’s gut, making his dick twitch in his pants. Keith can feel it, and Shiro watches his eyes flick down and then back up, catching Shiro’s gaze again, and his mouth curves into a filthy promise of a grin. “You okay with that?” Keith asks, palm pressed against Shiro’s sternum.

“Yes, god, please.” 

“Sit up,” Keith says, and he slides out from between Shiro’s legs, and then off the bed. Shiro grunts himself up to sitting, and watches Keith dig into a drawer. The lines of Keith’s back are limned in neon glow, and his jeans ride low on his hips, showing the dimples at the base of his spine and Shiro wants to bury his face in the curve of Keith’s skin. 

When Keith turns back around, Shiro’s stomach swoops. In his hands, Keith holds a length of rope, the cord black as ink. “Still with me?” Keith asks. If Shiro wasn’t already hard enough to burst, he would be now. He tracks Keith as the other moves around the bed, turning his head to watch him. Keith shakes his head, and Shiro goes back to looking at the wall across from the bed while Keith frees him from his shirt.

Arms free, Shiro shakes them out. Keith comes back around to the end of the bed, holding the rope loosely in his hands. “I’m going to tie you up,” he says, eyes flashing with intent and Shiro inhales.

“Okay,” Shiro says. His skin is already tingling, nerves jumping with anticipation. 

“Slide up a bit,” Keith instructs, and Shiro complies. Satisfied with Shiro’s position on the bed, Keith climbs on with him, and pushes against Shiro’s chest. “Lie back,” he says. Shiro does. Following these simple instructions makes something throb in his chest, in time with the pulsing hunger beating under his tongue. Keith kneels, astride Shiro’s hips, and drops the rope in a slithering pile on Shiro’s stomach. Shiro bites his tongue in an effort to contain the moan already rising up through his throat.

“Arms over your head,” Keith says, and Shiro reaches up and behind him. The slats on Keith’s headboard are the perfect width to grab onto, the wood smooth beneath Shiro’s palms. “No,” Keith says, leaning up and over Shiro, his chest at eye-level as he does. Shiro can hear his heartbeat, and pulse of hunger in Shiro’s gut times itself to the steady thump of Keith’s heart.

Out of his view, Keith is doing something with the rope, and Shiro tilts his head back to see. At that moment, Keith takes Shiro’s wrist in hand, wraps the rope around, tight but not too tight, and then lashes the other wrist to it, before anchoring them both to the one slat on his headboard that isn’t wood. Keith is efficient with the knots, and Shiro tests the tie, tugging gently. It’s a good restraint, though it will do nothing to prevent him from escaping, but the illusion of captivity is deliciously invigorating. 

“You can tie that tighter,” Shiro suggests, and he sees Keith’s stomach jump as he snorts. He doesn’t tighten the knots, just settles back onto his haunches across Shiro’s hips and draws his hands down Shiro’s chest and along his stomach until he gets to Shiro’s belt. Shiro’s stomach tightens as Keith’s fingers caress his belt buckle, and he hisses in a breath as Keith draws a firm hand down his length, cupping him through his pants before rocking back and sliding off the bed to land on his feet. 

Shiro tracks the movement, but Keith ignores him, turning away from the bed, and going back to the drawer he got the rope out of earlier. Shiro squirms, impatient. “What are you doing?” Shiro asks, and Keith throws him a look over his shoulder. 

“Did I say you could speak?” Keith asks, and there’s a hint of teeth in the smirk he levels at Shiro. 

Shiro shuts up. 

Keith takes his time doing whatever he is doing, and he doesn’t let Shiro see what he has in his hands when he turns back around, just moves around the bed and out of Shiro’s sight line in order to dump his collected things onto the bedspread. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Shiro,” Keith purrs, voice suddenly at Shiro’s ear, and Shiro tugs gently on the rope around his wrist. 

Keith climbs onto the bed again, and this time, when he touches Shiro’s belt, it’s to undo it and then the zipper and then, finally, to pull Shiro’s pants off and drop them in a heap on the floor at the end of the bed. Keith spares him barely a glance before reaching for his own belt. Shiro can’t help the sting of rejection the lack of obvious interest in his cock has on him. Most people who see him in all his naked glory can’t stop looking, but Keith had barely even looked at him before moving on to the next step.

The sound of more clothing hitting the floor snaps Shiro out of his mildly insulted reverie and brings his attention back to Keith, who is now naked, standing at the foot of his own bed, looking at Shiro like he is the most delicious meal, laid out especially for him. The hunger in Keith’s eyes makes Shiro’s ancient and unwavering thirst seem like a drop against a tidal wave. Oh, Shiro thinks, and then Keith is on him, hands landing hard beside Shiro’s head, and their hips slotted together and Shiro’s mind fritzes out on impact. 

Keith’s body on his is a line of heat, and Shiro wishes fervently that he could touch him too, that he could put his hands on Keith where Keith’s hands are on him. He arches into Keith, bending his knees slightly to get some purchase with his heels and canting his hips, trying to get more of Keith’s skin against his own. 

Keith mouths at the join of Shiro’s neck, and the press of Keith’s teeth against his skin for the second time sends stars winging behind Shiro’s closed eyes. Keith rocks into him, cock pressed into the join of Shiro’s thigh. It’s glorious, it’s maddening, it’s not enough.

“Keith,” Shiro pants, “Keith, please.”

“Please what, Shiro?” Keith says, voice muffled where his face is pressed into Shiro’s neck, worrying at the skin and trying to suck a bruise into skin that hasn’t bruised in several centuries. 

“Fuck-- _ ah _ \--Keith,” Shiro groans, as Keith’s hips twitch a little to the left of their previous rocking rhythm and the movement lines them up. “I want to touch you,” Shiro says, breathless. “Please, let me touch you.” 

Keith lifts his head, and Shiro turns his head to look at him. Keith’s eyes are dark, and his lips swollen from suckling against Shiro’s skin. Shiro knows the answer before Keith’s mouth even opens and he’s already groaning when Keith slides one hand down his chest, fingers stretching across his abs and then down to the base of his cock. 

“No,” Keith says, wrapping his fingers around Shiro and squeezing. Shiro gasps, and pulls on the restraints. The headboard creaks but doesn’t give. Keith spares it a quick glance and then his eyes are back meeting Shiro’s, head on. “Don’t break my bed,” he says, seriously. 

“I can’t promise you that,” Shiro says, voice strained around the grip Keith has on his cock.

“Don’t. Break. My. Bed.” Keith punctuates with long dragging pulls, capping each with a twist.

“I won’t, I won’t, God, fuck,  _ Keith _ ,” Shiro stutters over Keith’s name, hips lifting off the bed. Keith grins, the gleam of his teeth visible in the dim light of the bedroom. The rope around Shiro’s wrists rubs uncomfortably, an exquisite counterpoint to the friction between his legs and then, against the slow, pressing slide of Keith’s finger down the juncture of Shiro’s thigh, and then in behind his balls. 

The snap spark of heat in his veins consumes his thirst in a flashover of arousal so powerful that Shiro has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to jump out of his throat. Alight with the delicious sensation of Keith sliding down his body, slowly, tongue following a lazy path along the planes of his chest and down into the sharp lines of his abs, Shiro groans. Keith takes a detour along the jut of Shiro’s hips, before swallowing him whole. The wet heat of Keith’s mouth makes Shiro’s toes curl, and he gasps, eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling and making his chest heave. 

Shiro feels like Keith could eat him alive and Shiro would probably thank him for it. For a moment, the thought flounders him, but Shiro grabs hold of it with both hands and thinks about Keith actually being able to sink sharp teeth into his neck, and nearly comes from the force of the thought. His hips buck, and Keith pulls back, coughs, and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He looks up at Shiro from between Shiro’s thighs, locks their eyes for a brief second and heat flares across Shiro’s skin again.

In the silence of their shared glance, Shiro counts Keith’s heartbeats. After five, which seem to stretch into some ineffable eternity, and yet last no time at all, Keith blinks. The sweep of his lashes against his skin is like soot against ivory, limned as he is by the pale glow of the billboard outside his apartment.

When Keith meets his gaze again, there’s fire in his eyes, and the curve of his mouth is feral and hungry enough that Shiro is reminded of the young and newly turned, searching for a meal. “I knew what you were,” Keith says, settling back down onto his elbows between Shiro’s thighs. Shiro raises an eyebrow. “When I picked you up,” Keith clarifies. 

“Oh,” Shiro says, deceptively mild. “How?”

Keith grips him again, palm slick with spit. “There was something about you,” he says, hand moving up and down on Shiro’s length, and the other hand fondling Shiro’s balls, fingers slipping in behind to press at the skin there and then down, teasing towards where Shiro really wants them.

“Something--?” Shiro pauses to suck in a breath as Keith’s finger circles his hole, gently pressing before sliding back up along his perineum. All the while, Keith’s other hand covers as much of Shiro’s dick as it can. “Something about me?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, conversational, “you’re all--I can always tell.”

Shiro sticks on the thought of others before him. Others, who might have just drained Keith dry and left him a mess on the floor, others who might have spirited him away and kept him, willing or not, to drink from as they pleased. “Keith, you could have been--” 

“I know,” Keith says, simply. “Ready?” He doesn’t wait for Shiro’s answer, and Shiro has no more warning before Keith slides a finger in, slick and cool. It warms up fast, and Keith wastes no time getting the next one in beside it, burying them inside Shiro. 

“Yeah,” Shiro sighs, the pressing slide of Keith’s fingers inside him making him have to work hard to turn his brain back to the previous discussion. Keith quirks his fingers inside, and Shiro jumps. Pleasure rockets up his spine, and Shiro can’t help the hard tug on the ropes binding his wrists. The rope holds. Shiro groans, gritting his teeth.

Another finger joins the first two. Shiro arches his spine, the burn giving way to another smooth slide. Keith’s hand stutters around Shiro’s cock, and Shiro risks a glance down his body at Keith. The other man’s eyes are narrowed in focus, the shadows in the room making them look black as ink. Keith is biting his lower lip, concentration etched into his features, as he watches his fingers where they slide in and out of Shiro’s body. 

Keith looks up, and catches Shiro’s gaze. Their eyes catch, and Shiro feels the zip of fire in his veins, flashpoint building at the base of his spine. Keith’s fingers quirk inside Shiro, and the sensation has Shiro’s hips canting, and he can feel his thighs trembling as he strains to hold himself back from the edge. “Keith,  _ Christ _ \--” 

“Like that?” Keith asks, and does it again, other hand tightening around the base of Shiro’s cock, holding him back, effortlessly. The sound that leaps out of Shiro’s mouth without his permission is not a sob, but it is a near thing. Shiro feels the spill of prickling heat down his chest, as the flush builds under his skin. 

Keith hums in appreciation, and drags the pads of his fingers over the spot again, and Shiro’s hips jump. Shiro opens his eyes from where they’d fallen shut, and Keith grins when he notices. “You can hold on a little longer, right?” Keith asks. Shiro nods, helpless. “Good.”

Keith goes back to pulling on Shiro’s cock, in long smooth strokes, helped by the slick of lube on his palm. Every stroke, timed perfectly with the slide of Keith’s other hand, slow and dirty, makes Shiro’s eyes roll back. Shiro’s toes curl against the sheets, and above his head, he can hear the creak and strain of the headboard as every pass makes Shiro pull at the binding on his wrists. 

The only sound is Shiro’s ragged breathing, punctuated by Keith’s name, increasingly desperate, as Shiro fights himself back from the edge, again and again. A wildfire blooms at the base of his spine, liquid heat roiling in his veins, as Keith pushes him to the edge again. Shiro bites his lip, feeling the sharp edge of his fangs in his own skin. Blood wells up, as one sinks in, and Shiro’s nostrils flare at the scent. 

“Shit, Keith!” Shiro says, suddenly. Keith’s head snaps up, and his fingers tighten on the base of Shiro’s cock. The razor’s edge is thin and Shiro teeters, desperate to both fall and to hang on, because Keith asked him to. Shiro holds, just barely, muscles in his thighs jumping and lungs aching for the phantom breaths he doesn’t need. Keith gentles Shiro down from the precipice, pulling out his fingers, and smoothing them down Shiro’s inner thigh on a path towards his knee.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Keith says, raspy. It’s the first hint Shiro’s had of how far gone Keith is, how much this has affected him too. “You’ve been so good for me,” Keith whispers, petting Shiro’s knee. “So good.” 

Shiro lets his head drop back onto the pillows as Keith lets him go, smoothing both hands down Shiro’s hips. The bed dips beneath Keith’s weight as he settles himself between Shiro’s thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you,” Keith croons, voice gone to smoke in the darkness, and Shiro can’t help the full body shudder, or the whimper that escapes his gritted teeth. 

“Please,” Shiro begs, uncaring how desperate he must sound, wrecked and wanting. 

“Hold on a little longer for me,” Keith says, and Shiro can hear him slicking himself, hear the wet sounds of lube-covered fingers against skin, and then Keith is moving. Shiro lets himself be moved, Keith’s hands behind his knees, pressing forward until Keith is leaning up and over. “Don’t move,” Keith says, leaving Shiro nearly folded in half, knees toward his chest, while Keith lines himself up. 

Keith presses in deliberate and slow, hissing as he does. “God, you’re so hot,” Keith mutters, and Shiro groans against the long slide. “Yeah, baby, like that,” Keith says, as Shiro shifts to widen his legs, in order to allow Keith to fit more securely between his thighs.

For a moment, once he’s bottomed out, Keith pauses. Shiro leans into the stretch, leans into the way it tingles and sends sparks of heat singing up his spine. Keith catches his eyes, and then his hands are back behind Shiro’s knees, and Keith is pulling out and snapping his hips forward. The first thrust makes them both moan. Shiro gasps as Keith fucks into him with a steady rhythm that is just not quite enough to get him to the edge. 

“Harder,” Shiro growls, “c’mon, I’m not gonna break.”

Keith’s laugh above him is dark with promise. “Hold on then,” Keith says, and then he’s moving. Keith drives into Shiro with single-minded purpose. The smack of flesh on flesh and the wet sounds of where they are joined run as a counter-melody to the way every one of Keith’s thrusts drags the head of his cock over Shiro’s prostate. Each one punches a noise like he’s dying out of Shiro. It’d be such a good death though, he thinks, as Keith rails into him like a man possessed. 

“I’m close,” Shiro says, when he is, quite suddenly, close. Above him, Keith’s eyes are closed, and he’s biting his lip again. He lets go of one of Shiro’s knees and reaches between them. This time, the hand around his cock moves in a sweet, dragging pull and Shiro loses it. His climax, put off again and again, hits him like a freight train. The first pulse spatters his chin, the second paints his chest and the third coats Keith’s fist. 

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith groans. The hand behind Shiro’s knee grips hard, blunt nails digging into soft skin. Above him, Keith strains, his whole body gone taut as a bowstring, and Shiro hears the moment between Keith’s heartbeats, the moment where pleasure overwhelms even the brilliant, incandescent life of him. Keith’s hips stutter, and then he’s gone over the edge too.

The afterglow hazes the edges of the room, and Shiro closes his eyes. Keith lets Shiro’s knees go, and Shiro extends his legs, letting them drop softly onto the bed as Keith pulls out. The slide on his over-sensitive flesh makes Shiro hiss, and Keith mirrors the noise as he settles back onto his haunches, hands coming to rest on Shiro’s thighs. Shiro doesn’t open his eyes, but after a moment, he feels Keith move, and soon there are knees bracketing Shiro’s hips and he feels Keith’s hands up near Shiro’s wrists. 

“Easy,” Keith murmurs, as he works on the knots. Shiro opens his eyes, and is treated to a view of the smooth expanse of Keith’s chest. Keith works the knot tying Shiro to the headboard free first, and helps Shiro bring his arms back down over his head, and then pulls Shiro to sitting.

Shiro’s shoulders twinge, the pain tingling down his arms and into his wrists, where Keith is working on the rope wound around them. “I’m going to have to cut this off, I think,” Keith says, looking up at Shiro from where he’s sitting practically in Shiro’s lap, Shiro’s bound hands in Keith’s own.

“Sit back,” Shiro says, and raises an eyebrow when Keith doesn’t move. “Seriously.” Keith quirks his own eyebrow in response, but moves back, out of Shiro’s lap and then down off the bed entirely. Shiro inhales, bunches his shoulders, and  _ pulls _ . The rope frays before snapping, and Shiro watches as the ends slide down onto the dark duvet cover in between his legs. He looks up at Keith, who is watching, rapt. 

“Jesus,” Keith says, and then he shakes himself and steps forward. Shiro rubs his own wrists, feeling the ridges of the marks left by the rope around his skin. “I’ve got some arnica gel in the bathroom--” 

“I don’t need it,” Shiro says, holding his wrists up for Keith to view. The marks are already fading. Shiro finds himself wishing they might last a little bit longer. Oddly, he’d enjoyed seeing the marks on his wrists, knowing that Keith had put them there. The thought nags at him, but Shiro dismisses it, there’s no reason to think this will be a standing arrangement, no matter how much he thinks he might enjoy getting to know this side of him that Keith somehow knew to look for and encourage.

“Right,” Keith says, and lifts a hand to the back of his neck. He’s still naked, and Shiro leans back on his elbows and takes a long look. The city glow outside limns him in something close to moonlight, softening the sharp lines of his face and lending a gentleness to the lean strength of his body. Keith catches him looking. “Like what you see?” 

“I do,” Shiro says, “wouldn’t have let you take me home and tie me to your bed if I didn’t.” 

Keith’s eyes light, and he stifles a laugh. “Guess not,” he says, before leaning down to grab his boxers off the floor. “Be right back,” he says, tugging them on and disappearing through his bedroom door. Shiro waits, come drying on his stomach, and pushes one hand through his fringe.

Keith returns with a washcloth in hand, and climbs back onto his bed, swiping at the mess on Shiro’s stomach with the cloth. Shiro closes his eyes, trying to ignore the return of his thirst. It barrels through him anyway, and he inhales, involuntary, and gets a lungful of Keith - musk, sweat, something spicy, and the iron and copper tang of his blood. Shiro groans. Keith stops what he’s doing, lifts his hands warily. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, “thirsty.” The word slips out without Shiro’s permission, and he sighs. Keith has gone still, except for the hitch of his breathing. For a long moment, there is no other sound. 

“Y-you can--” Keith interrupts himself to gesture at his neck, and Shiro zeros in on the jump of Keith’s pulse under his skin. “I mean, if you want--”

“I want,” Shiro says, pushing himself up off his elbows. He rises to sitting and then folds his legs under himself, and turns to face Keith. Keith’s expression sharpens, and Shiro sniffs the air again. Underneath that steely bravado he finds it, that tiny whiff of fear. Shiro knows his eyes have gone silver, preternaturally bright, and his fangs have lengthened, he can feel them in his lip. 

Keith holds himself very still, like a rabbit staring down a wolf, like he’s afraid that if he moves, the predator will be on him. “Good instincts,” Shiro says, leaning in close, dragging his nose down the length of Keith’s neck. He feels the stutter of Keith’s breath and hears the skip of Keith’s heartbeat. “Stay very still,” Shiro croons, and Keith stops breathing altogether. 

This time, the bite is deliberate, purposeful and Shiro moans into the bloom of blood on his tongue. Keith tastes like the arc of electricity, like ozone static before a lightning strike, and Shiro wants to drown in it. Keith goes lax in Shiro’s grip, slumping forward so their shoulders come together. Shiro slides a soothing hand down the line of Keith’s spine, and drinks. 

Counting heartbeats is hard like this, still coming down from orgasmic high, but Shiro manages to pull himself together enough to ensure that he won’t leave Keith unconscious, or worse. He pulls away, soothing the bite with a long lick, and then lifts his head. Keith’s eyes have hazed over, and his hands fall limply into his own lap. 

“You’re so warm now,” Keith slurs, tipping forward to nuzzle at Shiro’s neck. Shiro lets him curl in, and pulls him down into the bed beside him, wraps himself around the smaller body and noses at the back of Keith’s neck, before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the top of Keith’s spine. They lie together like that for long enough that Shiro starts thinking about what it might be like to wake up next to this body for several decades, what it might feel like to rise next to him with the moon, what he might feel like with skin that is diamond-hard and teeth that are vicious sharp. 

“Stay,” Keith murmurs, mostly under his breath and Shiro jerks, startled, and pulls away from Keith. Keith rolls over, and opens his eyes. They last vestiges of the haze brought on by the feeding are clearing in his gaze, and Keith reaches up, lazily tracing the line of Shiro’s jaw with his finger.

“I can’t,” Shiro says, but he’s not pushing Keith away either.

“I know,” Keith says, and then he yawns, so wide his jaw cracks. He blinks at Shiro, slowly, sleepily, and then rolls onto his back, inhales gustily and sits up. “I’ll walk you out,” Keith says, smoothing a hand down Shiro’s side. 

Shiro sits up too, and scrubs a hand down his face. Keith rolls out of bed, landing easily on his feet, and starts hunting for Shiro’s clothes. Shiro slides out of the bed as well. He gathers his clothes, settling back down onto the bed to pull on his socks, and then everything else. His shirt is a lost cause, buttons ripped off and scattered. He puts his arms through the sleeves anyway, leaving it hanging open. 

Keith stops mid-pulling up his own pants, and Shiro grins, watching the flush steal over Keith’s cheeks. Keith breaks their shared gaze first, and gets his pants up over his hips. He doesn’t put on a shirt, and so Shiro has the pleasure of following him back out into the rest of his flat, watching the way the muscles along Keith’s spine move as he walks. 

Keith leans on the kitchen island that faces out over the living room and it’s floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city. He reaches for something and then hands it to Shiro. It’s his phone. Shiro takes the device and thumbs his way to the contacts app. He taps his information into the card and saves the data, sending himself a text too, so he’ll have Keith’s number. The heap of his leather jacket on the floor in the foyer vibrates to let him know the message was received.

“See you around?” Keith asks, after Shiro has picked up his coat and shrugged it on.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, leaning in to nuzzle Keith’s neck again. “You will.” 


End file.
